Chapter Twelve
A hint of excitement spread through the hall as the evening meal began. There was a frivolity that Ailis did not feel. Sir Duncan was pleasant and engaged her in conversation even though she wanted to curl up in the corner and sob out her anguish. When she felt that urge, Davina would reach out and offer a comfort that Ailis had missed for months.
Her father was generous in his praise now that she had capitulated and accepted her fate and his choice of husband. She realized that the feeling spreading through the people was not excitement as much as relief. The battle between father and daughter, between chieftain and kin, was over. Their chieftain was happy. Drink flowed and food was served until everyone was satisfied.
If she was devastated over the knowledge she carried in her heart, no one seemed to notice. Or rather, no one commented on her demeanor or lack of mirth at the prospect of marrying the wealthy and well-connected Sir Duncan.
Then, from the back of the hall, words began buzzing about like a swarm of bees. The noise moved forward with a sense of alarm and danger. Men jumped to their feet, women whispered and fear grew. Ailis could see it but didn’t know the cause. A small group of her father’s warriors strode quickly toward the dais. Breac drew her father away from the table to speak to only him.
“Davina? What is the cause of this?” she asked. But her friend’s gaze was centered on Ailis’ father and Davina looked both worried and guilty. “Davina?”
Turning her attention to her father, Ailis was able to hear only bits of his exchange with Breac. What she heard shocked her to her core.
Dozens ready to attack. An army at their gates. Surrounded but for the sea.
But the last words took her breath away.
The MacLean demands the prisoner.
Ailis stood. She’d have gone to her father’s side had Davina not grabbed her and pulled her back. Searching her friend’s face, she read the truth.
Lachlan was not only alive, he was here. Now.
A prisoner of her father’s.
“Father!” she called out. She pulled free of Davina’s hold and ran to him. “He is no danger to ye, to us. Set him free and. . . .” Ailis knew she must handle this quickly and the price she must pay. “I willna delay in marrying Sir Duncan.”
Her father’s gaze narrowed. He looked from her to Davina to Sir Duncan and back.
“He doesna remember himself,” she said in a quiet voice so few heard her. “He doesna remember. . . me.”
By now, Davina reached her side. Although her father threw dark glances at his wife, her friend didn’t flinch. Had Davina some part in this?
“Finnan,” Davina said. “I pray ye, just let him go.”
With a nod to Breac, the order was given. The commander and his men rushed off towards the stairway that led below to the prisoners’ cells. Ailis took a step in that direction with the intent to follow them, but her father stopped her.
“Remain where ye are, Daughter.” His words and tone made everyone stop. She met his stare until the sounds of footsteps approached from where the men had gone. “Stay!”
Even in his angriest moments, he’d never spoken to her thus and everyone witnessing this scene knew it. She didn’t move as Breac and the others entered, dragging Lachlan between them. When he turned his head, she started again.
“Stay,” he ordered through clenched teeth.
Ailis couldn’t look. She couldn’t watch him being dragged away from her, now that she knew the truth. It took every bit of strength and control to remain where she stood. She turned her head so she didn’t see him.
The footsteps moved steadily away from the front of the hall towards the doorway in the back. Then the sounds of a struggle erupted. Yelling and chaos spread forward.
“Ye lied to me, Ailis!” Though hoarse and rough, she could hear Lachlan in every word. “Ye lied!”
Then he was standing before her as he had just days ago, tall and strong and a threat more now than before. He fought Breac and the others as they tried to grab hold of him and take him away. He didn’t behave like a man being taken to freedom and returned to his life. His accusation echoed and every MacKinnon heard it.
“Tell me the truth now, Ailis,” he said as he struggled.
Davina stood at her father’s side and touched his arm, a message spoken louder than any words could. A simple nod brought action and Breac and the men stepped away.
“What truth do ye wish me to say, Iain?” she asked, wiping her damp hands down her gown to ease her nervousness. She’d given her father her word. If she spoke wrongly, it could cost Lachlan so much. “That I loved a man but cost him his life?” She lifted her head and met his gaze. How had she not known him or recognized the eyes staring out at her through the scrap of fabric? “I called a man to me and he came. . . and he died.”
Gasps rose from those listening. As she watched, he shook his head.
“Did ye set the fire, Ailis?” He came closer and she lost the ability to breathe. “Did ye block the door so I couldna escape?” Oh, dear God in Heaven, he was remembering details of it! “Did ye knock me unconscious so there was no chance I would survive?”
“Nay,” she whispered.
He’d spoken of things no one could know unless he had been there. He lifted his bare hand to touch her face and she knew she wouldn’t be able to let him go if he did. She must step back and not allow it to happen.
“Ye lied to me, Ailis.” His words sounded like an endearment rather than an accusation.
He did the most surprising thing. He tugged a few tendrils of her hair free from the braid she wore and let them tumble over her breasts. When he met her gaze, she was certain he remembered it all.
As he’d spoken the words about what happened to him, Lachlan remembered her. He remembered everything about her. Everything they’d done and said and planned and hoped flooded back into his mind. And he knew that she played no part in what had happened in that cottage on that terrible day.
That she felt guilty just eased his pain and warmed his heart and soul. That she was going to buy his freedom with her own bondage told him even more. No matter what happened next, he wanted her at his side. If she would be there. . . .
“Ye promised me, Ailis. All the days of our lives, ye said,” he whispered. “I would be yer wedded husband and ye—”
“I would be yer wedded wife,” she finished the words.
“All the days of our lives.”
Those were words he’d heard countless times in his head during the worst moments of his life. They reminded him of some of the best times. Time spent with Ailis in his arms. Time spent making her his. Time spent loving her until she screamed in pleasure.
She was his and he wouldn’t give her up. Lachlan leaned in to kiss her to remind her of his love. The doors to the hall crashed open and a large group of warriors wearing the colors of the MacLeans poured in. Without thought, he grabbed her and placed her behind him.
“I want my son, MacKinnon!” Dougal MacLean yelled as he and those with him ran between the tables to the front. “Ye willna keep me from my son!”
Lachlan wondered what his father would say when he saw the extent of his injuries. The older man slowed as he reached the steps to the dais. He motioned for the others to remain there. He noticed Artair and nodded to him and his other kin. What they thought, he couldn’t guess. But Lachlan understood that he would have to show himself and pray they saw him in the mangled flesh beneath the hood and mask.
Dougal strode past The MacKinnon who’d not said another word and stopped before Sir Duncan. The two had been old friends. They had fostered with Duncan’s uncle on Barra as boys.
“Duncan, why are ye here?” his father said, offering his hand in greeting.
“I came to marry The MacKinnon’s daughter. But now have the pleasure of wishing her and yer son happy.”
“What?” Lachlan said at the same time his father did. Ailis pushed around him.
“Ye both declared yerselves married before.” He paused and nodded at those in the room, “before witnesses. The old way, but a marriage respected still.”
Lachlan didn’t know whether to laugh or shout at the man’s declaration. He and Ailis had used the words many times to pledge their love but never in front of others. Until just now.
“How do I ken ye are Lachlan?” his father asked. “I would look on ye myself.” His father had never thought being the doubting apostle was a bad part of the church’s teachings. He would want to see with his own eyes before believing the impossible was possible.
But that would mean Ailis would see him, too. And she was truly the only one who mattered to him. Would she find him repulsive or would she react the way her father had? Not many women had seen the injuries The MacKinnon had in his life and his experience, so Lachlan doubted she could be unmoved about his appearance.
“Lachlan,” she whispered, touching his hand. He’d taken off his gloves so he felt her warmth. “Do ye wish to do this here?”
“They matter not to me, Ailis,” he said. “I only care about what ye think when ye see me as I am.”
She released him then and he nodded at his father.
He didn’t draw out the process. They need only see his face and, hopefully, they would recognize him through the damage. Hopefully, she could still see him there.
A burst of cool air rushed over his head when he tugged the hood off. The hair on the right side and some of the front of his head remained almost untouched while the back and the left side had burned. The head wound added to the injury and so the back near his neck was nearly bald. He heard the soft inhalation from Ailis as he reached for the back of the mask and untied it. Lifting it off, he heard gasps from those close enough to see his face. Lachlan stood in silence and waited for Ailis’ reaction.
“I would have kenned ye, Lachlan. If I hadna thought ye dead. If I’d seen yer face,” she said, reaching up to cup the cheek that had sustained the worst of it. The tears slid down her cheeks and he wanted to kiss them away. “I see ye there.”
He kissed her. Without the mask and hood to cover him, he felt the softness of her face against his. There was no hesitation in her kiss. When he dared to open his eyes during that kiss, he found her watching him back.
“How?” his father asked in a voice thick with emotion. “How did ye survive?”
With Ailis at his side, Lachlan explained what he remembered about the fire, waking within it, the cellar and his near death. He had no memories from the time the roof fell on him until many, many days later after the brothers had found him. Only when he stopped did he notice the silence around him. Glancing up, he saw the expression of disbelief on his father’s rough features. And he noticed that his father now looked much older than the last time Lachlan had seen him.
Before he could say another word, The MacLean strode across the few paces separating them and took hold of Lachlan. Dragging him in, his father hugged him and didn’t let go.
“Thank the Almighty,” he whispered over and over so low that only Lachlan could hear his words. “My son. My son.”
Lachlan felt tears burning his eyes and throat at the expression of love and loss in his father’s gaze. That day, all those months ago, the man had lost two sons and his wife and he’d suffered for it.
His father released him and studied Ailis. Clearing his throat, he called out to her father.
“So, MacKinnon, will ye approve their marriage or do I call for the attack?”
From the nervous laughter through the hall, Lachlan knew that no one could tell if his father’s threat was serious or not. They all waited on their chieftain to say aye or nay.
“They spoke the words before witnesses, MacLean. They have a year to declare them before a priest.”
“Then give me some ale so I can raise a cup to my son and his wife!”
Lachlan took advantage of the confusion to wave Artair up to meet Ailis. Though Artair had accompanied him to the clearing a few times and had seen Ailis in the distance, they’d never been introduced. Lachlan had questions for his cousin. Taking her hand and kissing it, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders to keep her close. ’Twould be some time before he let her out of his sight.
“Ailis, this is my cousin, Artair,” he said, nodding to his cousin. “Artair, Lady Ailis MacKinnon.”
After a few minutes of a polite exchange, Artair signaled that he would speak privately with Lachlan. When Davina called Ailis to her side, he had the chance.
“Did Wynda accompany ye here or is she back at Aros?” he asked. A strange expression filled Artair’s gaze and his cousin looked away before replying.
“Nay, Lachlan,” he said. “Lachlan, Wynda. . . .”
In that moment, he was back in the cottage waiting for Ailis to arrive. Watching out the window, he heard the steps behind him and wondered how she could have gotten in without him seeing her approach.
“Lachlan.”
He recognized her voice and began to turn. He caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye before she struck him.
Wynda.
“Wynda?” Lachlan stared at Artair. “Why would she do such a thing? Where is she?” he whispered, searching the crowd for the woman who had done that to him.
Looking back at his cousin, he saw the same strange expression that he’d seen those months ago when they both understood it would be Lachlan’s duty to marry The MacLeod’s daughter.
“She wasna right in the head, Lachlan,” Artair said, his voice filled with pity. “Something wasna right.” His cousin let out a breath. “She kenned about the two of ye and yer meeting place. When she was told that she wouldna be free and that her betrothal would now be to ye, she went a little mad, I think.”
“Artair, where is she now?”
“She told me what she’d done when we got to the cottage and found it burned to ashes. She confessed it to me,” he paused and shook his head. “Before she walked off the battlements of Aros into the sea.” Lachlan crossed himself at the thought of her unshriven soul, condemned for eternity.
“Artair, I am sorry. For ye, for her,” he said. He had never considered the woman’s wishes or Artair’s words of warning that day.
“I think yer bride wants ye, Lachlan. Ye are truly a lucky man.”
As Lachlan watched Ailis make her way back to him, he agreed with Artair, he was a very lucky man. He would spend the rest of his life with the woman he loved. She stared at him as he held out his hand.
“When did ye remember, Lachlan?” she asked, walking into his arms.
“I heard ye speak at the cottage and something came back to me. I kenned I was Lachlan but didna have the memories yet.”
“Ye were there?” She leaned back and looked at him.
“Aye. I saw ye sneaking out and followed ye. I heard yer confession but it confused me.”
“And then? The rest of the memories?”
“I’d heard ye speak some of them in my dreams. In my pain and in my head. But when I saw yer hair and it fell over ye, I remembered the last time we’d met at the cottage. The hours spent in yer arms. And all ye wore was yer hair.”
His body reacted as he knew it would. Better still, he could see the way her eyes darkened in arousal. And he felt the way she pressed against him, her soft curves against his hardness.
“All the days of our lives,” she whispered.
“Aye, my love,” he said as he kissed her. “All the days. . . and all the nights, too.”